All Hands on Deck!
by NightOfAThousandDreams
Summary: A historical revamp of the storm scene.


**WARNING: Extremely short chapter.**

**Enjoy! ;)**

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"All hands on deck!" a man shouted hoarsely, trying to have his voice heard through the thick and thundering storm. "I repeat, all hands on deck!"

The call drifted faintly through the boistrous wind, the sailors bumbling about, not really sure about their captain's orders. Only young Thomas Rowe, a inexperienced, but good-natured lad, was able to overhear Captain Newport's commands. His willful, but bumbling nature drove him to push the cannons away from the edge.

"We need more men!" Newport cried over the roar of thunder. "Ya lackeys don't actually think that little Rowe is going ta push save the blasted ship by himself, don'tcha?"

As more men began pull the sails and harness the ropes, a lone figure stood quietly in a dark corner, his blue eyes watching the sailors with a mixture of excitement and yearning. He took a step back. He knew that he was not supposed to be up on deck; he was supposed to be down below, in a filthy quarter, guarded and chained. But he needed a piece of the action. He had been in many a scrape in his life; he only wished to see someone fathom better than he in these sorts of situations. He watched from the corner of his eye as a young boy started to harness the cannons down. He swallowed down an automatic order. _Don't do it that way!_ he wanted to scream. _You'll get us all killed!_

Coincidentally, or maybe ironically, at the precise moment that the figure bit back his tongue, the inexperienced mate lost his grip on the cannon and tumbled towards the edge of the ship. Grasping the air for dear life, the boy tripped over his own feet and plunged into the dark unknown.

"Man overboard!"

"Someone help 'em!"

"He's a lost cause!"

"Aye, keep on steering westward."

The lone figure looked onward, stunned at what had just happened. A second later, a flash of lightning briefly gave off the sillouhette of a soldier diving into the water, leaving the onlookers frozen with shock. A stocky, scarred sailor around the age of forty noticed a trail of rope rapidly uncoiling towards the ravaging Atlantic. Instantly putting two and two together, Lon Matthews rapidly grabbed and coiled the rope expertly, tossing the loops towards his mates. "It's a crazed rescue mission!" he shouted. "Pull as hard as ya can, lads!"

Sweat mingled with rain as the crew fought both against the furious winds and the angry sea. Their hardened hands pulled with effort as they reeled in a golden haired man holding the unconscious Thomas. With a last, might "_Heeve!"_ the crew sighed a bit in relief as the two men plopped onto the deck like freshly caught fish.

Thomas let out a hoarse, wet cough and sneezed with a start. He weakly opened his eyes and looked around the blurry scene. Four or five crew members surrounded him as he struggled to get up. He let out a weak groan.

"Wh-who...saved me?" the boy stuttered, rubbing his eyes tiredly.

Long gave out a cheeky grin on his otherwise haggard face. "Why it was-" he stopped with a start as a bolt of lightning revealed the identity of the mysterious rescuer.

"_Smith?!"_

The men gawked with awe and confusion. Hadn't Captain Newport have him arrested for causing trouble aboard the ship? Hadn't he been locked below deck with watched with an eye of a hawk? And hadn't Newport told Smith that if he disobeyed orders one last time, he would be executed the moment they docked?

Excited and panicked whispers began to spread from man to man. How could they let Christopher Newport kill him? He had just saved a man's life! Wild ideas and even wilder plans were suggested. Somehow, John Smith had to live.

He had to live.

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**Okay a little snippet I wanted to write for a while. Don't think I'll continue this, but maybe if you BEG!... No, no, I'm not that type of person. As of now, I am battling the worst season of the year (allergies on steroids) so it's kinda hard to update more than one story... so..**

**I don't know.**

**~Hana~**


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